Apostasy
by shingekis
Summary: [noun; the abandonment or renunciation of a religious or political belief] Skylar Walsh could never dream of hurting another person. Of course, when the dead are rising and people are losing who they once were, it's difficult for anyone to keep up a perpetually positive attitude.


I honestly didn't want to write this at first, because I felt like it had been explored quite enough in this fandom. But the plot bunny was stubborn, and I have a feeling I could make it a bit different from most TWD fan fictions with original characters in them, so I spent an entire day fleshing out a character to use and write with. I didn't think making a profile would be necessary, since I prefer to show my characters using my writing rather than a generic character sheet but, later on in the story I may or may not post something or another on my profile. It'll mostly just be little things that I couldn't find a way to write into the fic, but it'll be something.

Well, I hope you guys enjoy!

**Disclaimer****: **I disclaim. (Except Skylar.)

* * *

Lazily flipping through TV channels, a glass of apple juice in one hand and the remote loosely hanging in the other, I listened to Carl talk excitedly beside me about a new video game that was coming out soon. While I was interested to hear what I had to say, the hot Georgian heat was really beginning to get to me, even with the Grimes family's good air conditioning system, making it hard to concentrate on just about anything.

On a Sunday, nothing interesting was on, aside from morning cartoons but I'd only arrived at around noon, so I was way too late for those.

Turning to him during a lull in the mostly one-sided conversation, I asked, "Your mom said she'd be home around four, right?" Glancing down at the watch on my wrist, finding it to be 3:38, I continued with, "It's not that I'm not completely into what you're talkin' about, but I _really_ gotta get home. I've got a paper due tomorrow and I ain't even half done with it yet..."

"I don't see why you couldn't have just brought it over here and worked on it," Carl replied. I chuckled under my breath.

"I'd have gotten too into it, I think. It's best done uninterrupted." Tossing the TV remote in the air, I caught it clumsily before muting the TV and pushing myself up from the couch, heading towards the kitchen and finishing off the last of my juice before rinsing the glass out and placing it in the dishwasher. Turning and running a hand through my curly hair, a habit I had picked up long ago from my dad, I walked back towards the couch, throwing myself down on it and pulling my legs up. "I guess I'll just have to stay up to finish it."

Just short of twenty minutes later, Lori walked through the door, bags of groceries weighing down her arms. "Hi Mrs. Grimes," I greeted politely, smiling. She smiled back as she walked to the kitchen to put the groceries away. I quickly stood up and followed her in there to help her put things away.

"Hey, Skylar. How was Carl while I was out?"

I shrugged. "Same as usual. Nothin' too exciting," I informed her as I sat a jug of milk in the fridge. She nodded slowly. "So how was your day?"

"It was alright," she replied. "Pretty much the same as yesterday."

"I see." Gathering the now-empty bags and tossing them in the trash, I then turned back to the living room. "Well, I have an essay that needs finishin', so I'm gonna go ahead and head home."

"You want a ride?"

I was about to decline politely, until I remembered the temperature. It didn't help that the humidity was high; I'd be drenched in sweat by the time I got home, if I walked. Reluctantly, I nodded. "If it's not too much trouble."

"'Course not," she told me, directing her attention towards Carl. "Get your shoes on Carl, we're takin' Skylar home."

Hurriedly, the twelve year old stood up and collected his shoes, tugging them on quickly as I did the same.

We all piled in the car, Carl sitting in the back seat and I in the front with Lori, as we pulled out of the driveway and sped off in the direction of my house. It was only a ten minute drive, and Lori made small talk on the way there, which I happily contributed in.

After I got home, I kicked my shoes off, finding where I'd left off in my weekend homework assignment and starting up right away. If I was lucky, I might be able to finish early, eat dinner, maybe relax for half an hour, and then get a decent amount of sleep. Dad probably wouldn't be home 'till late, too, so no distractions there. I managed the four last pages of the first draft in an hour and a half, then going over for spelling mistakes and inconsistencies. Sighing and taking a moment to flex my wrists, I ran over the topic in my head, wondering if there was anything I could add, deciding that what I had was enough. I went over it a couple more times before saving the file to the USB drive sticking out of the front of the computer, stretching and standing up.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully; Dad got home late, as expected, throwing me a tipsy greeting before disappearing to his room, I assumed to sleep.

I decided that it wouldn't be such a good idea to do so myself, so I quickly threw my pajamas on, brushed my teeth, and crawled into bed, falling to sleep soon after.

* * *

Staring confusedly at the police car waiting in the driveway as I pulled in beside it, I shut off the engine, unbuckling my seat belt and grabbing my bag. It was unusual for Dad to be home early, but I wasn't complaining. Walking to the door, I opened it with a cheerful, "I'm home!" Pulling my shoes off and sitting them next to Dad's, I meandered towards the kitchen, sitting my bag on the counter. Dad looked up at me from the kitchen table, and from the grim expression on his face I could tell that something was wrong.

"Rick was shot today," he informed me shakily, lifting a hand to run it through his hair.

Eyes widening, my jaw slackened, and I managed to choke out a short, "I-is he okay?"

Dad nodded, interlacing his fingers. "He's still in surgery, and the doctors-they estimated he'd be out later tonight. They say he'll be okay, but he might not... he might not wake up right away."

I looked down at my feet, sad at the fact that Sheriff Grimes had been through such an ordeal. "How are Carl and Mrs. Grimes?"

"Ah, they're-well, Lori's been real worried. So is Carl."

"Naturally..."

He stood up, walking over to me to pull me in for a tight hug. "He'll be alright, hon, I know it. Rick, he's a fighter. He'll get through it."

I nodded stiffly, wrapping my arms around his middle, returning the hug.

I'd known the Grimes family basically since I was born. I still remember the day Carl was born, even if I was only four and a half years old. The three of them were like a second family to me, and I considered them very close. If Rick died, it wouldn't be just Carl and Lori that were affected. We all would be. Rick had always had a certain charisma about him; he was polite, friendly, hard working, and all around seemed a rather likable person.

When I finally pulled away, I noticed the wetness in my eyes, hurriedly blinking it away. He'd be fine, just like Daddy said he would. I had to believe that. He _was_ a police officer after all; it was only natural to assume that at some point he'd be hurt. It didn't make it any easier, considering my own father had exactly the same job and therefore in just as much danger. Maybe it was the constant optimism that I could never shake that made it so easy to forget.

Maybe it was nothing more than taking the easy way out. And that's what made me sadder than anything.

I'd always been someone who worked hard, someone who got what they wanted through effort. Being the courtly person I was, however, I often stepped back to let someone take what I wanted, or stepped forward to give someone something that I hadn't needed to. Too often, it seemed sometimes, though I could never find it in myself to complain. Seeing other people happy because of something I had done stirred a joyful feeling in me that I relished.

I'd hold my chin up, stay strong. Carl was likely more worried than I could ever be, and I would be there for the twelve year old, even at my own expense.

After all, I didn't know any other way.


End file.
